


It's Not a Side Effect of The Coffee, I am Thinking it Must be Love

by PrettyOkayGatsby



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Based off Tumblr thing, Can you tell it's 3 o'clock in the morning, Coffeeshop AU, Hey lookie no angst, M/M, MCR, Multi, Patrick might be an angel, but he's not really creative, don't hurt me, seriously, who let me on the internet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:19:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyOkayGatsby/pseuds/PrettyOkayGatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS;</p><p>1. Hella fucking gay.<br/>2. Desperately single.<br/>For Your Drink Today I Recommend;<br/>You Give me Your Number.</p><p>And how could Pete say no to that? Especially after catching sight of the cute little barista who, unfortunately, doesn't seem to have a clue as to what he was talking about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not a Side Effect of The Coffee, I am Thinking it Must be Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [That lady on Tumblr. Hi. *hides*](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=That+lady+on+Tumblr.+Hi.+%2Ahides%2A).



Okay, so maybe Pete's a little... _impulsive_ sometimes. _  
_

Big deal, right?

Whatever...he might be impulsive but he was not stupid. And you know what's stupid?

Denying a sign from destiny.

And this was most obviously a sign!

Obviously.

_TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS;_

_1\. Hella Fucking Gay._

_2\. Desperately single._

_FOR YOUR DRINK TODAY I RECOMMEND_

_You give me your number._

The  _sign_ was even written on a  _sign._

Like hell he was going to pass that up. He walked into the small coffee shop, grinning at the little bell. A man stood in front of the counter, hair died bright red. "Hey," he greeted informally. Pete examined him critically. He was nice looking but not really what Pete was looking for. "What can I get for you?" he asked, wiping his hands on his little half apron.

He shrugged. "I don't know, what's good?" He tried to swallow his disappointment. 

"Well, I'm not really the barista so unless you want to wait for Patrick-"

"I'll wait."

Red haired guy raised an eyebrow. "O-okay."

Pete crossed the few steps to the counter, leaning on it as Gerard (if his name tag was right) went to go bus tables. It was one of those low-key, almost hipster coffee shops that had a really big blond guy in the corner playing music off actual records with rows and rows of shelves stuffed full of CDs pushed against the walls. There seemed to be only one other person working there, a kid with heavy eyeliner chatting amiably with two pink haired girls. They all wore matching blue half aprons that read _Chicago_ on the little pocket on the side.

Which was kind of dumb, because, you know, they were in Chicago like right this second but whatever.

"Can I help you?"

He looked up and felt like Joe had snuck up behind him and punched him in the stomach.

Really hard. 

( _Okay so Pete wasn't really the most elegant of speakers, suck his dick, he's trying_.)

The barista was gorgeous.

He was round in the tummy and face, with a dark black fedora crammed over gingerish hair and the prettiest murkiest green eyes Pete had ever seen. He stared for a moment, slack-jawed as the pretty barista flushed red-oh! Oh, and it went down the collar of his shirt, dear Jesus, yes, thank you. 

"Can I help you?" he repeated, twiddling his thumbs. Pete grinned.

"Yeah, I'm here about the sign."

Halfway across the coffeeshop, Gerard perked up, Mikey slamming to a halt a few feet behind him. Bob rolled his eyes and turned the music up. "Where the hell are Frank and Ray?" he sighed to himself. He did not want to be the only sane one around when one of the famous Way Brothers' plans blew up.  Again.

"Oh, okay," he turned around. "That's the black peppermint coffee then?"

"...What?" he asked, dumbfounded, not that that didn't sound awesome but _what?_

 _"_ The recommendation for today. It's black peppermint coffee. Or did someone change the sign again?" he looked exasperated. "Gerard!"

"Gee didn't do anything!" Mikey called loyally, joining his brother under the table where he was hiding.

Pete deflated. 

Shit.

No cute barista for him.

Luckily, Patrick seemed to take pity on his poor deluded self. "Let me get that coffee for you," he said, smiling in a way that made Pete's heart sputter. "On the house for all your troubles." 

Pete gratefully accepted the coffee moments later. It was freezing cold outside and he was grateful for the warmth. He wanted to peel off his gloves but decided against it.  _Chicago_ did not serve in cardboard cups but glass mugs you turned in when you were done and he was fairly fond of his fingerprints, thank you very much. He took a sip and vaguely wondered how much money they lost from greedy people sneaking off with their cups or CDs. Then again, he doubted anyone could steal from Patrick without feeling immediately guilty and turning to nunhood to atone for it right afterwards. Like, seriously, the kid looked like a baby panda for Christ's sake.

"Do you like it?" he asked, looking worried. Pete nodded and took a sip, resisting the urge to roll his eyes back and moan.

_God bless this man._

It was bitter and minty, hot and cool and absolutely perfect for the near freezing weather. He shifted aside as Patrick took the order of the man next in the line he had been holding up. He hadn't left the counter yet despite his aching legs and the comfy looking tables and chairs. Instead he stood stubbornly and uncomfortably braced against the wood and metal, nearly knocking over the bowl of sugar they put out for their customers with his hip.

The man eyes Patrick up and down before accepting his mocha and left, smirking. Pete wondered how many people had come in for the sign already and nearly broke the cup in his anger. He decided then it was best that he did not dwell on it and that cute barista owned business or not, he was taking that damned sign with him when he left.

Or destroying it.

Whichever.

"So what did it say?" He nearly lept out of his skin, coffee sloshing onto his shoes.

"What?"

"The sign. What did it say?"

Pete coughed and stared at the small rivulets of coffee that ran down the sides and dripped to the floor. He licked his thumb absently. Patrick was still looking at him curiously. He smiled slightly as if to say,  _go on, take your time, you can tell me how you rushed in here hoping to bone me when you're ready._

_Should I even bother? He looks pretty happy not knowing._

 "It said the barista was gay and lonely and to come in if you wanted a date."

_Eh, why should Pete be the only one embarassed?_

Patrick colored, shoving his hat nearly down his eyes. "Gerard!" he yelled. "I'm going to destroy you!" Guy with red hair and eyeliner kid made a break for the exit. 

"Ray and Frank's shift starts soon so we're gonna take off. Patrick, we love you, best boss ever, bye!" Gerard yelled. 

"I'm going to kill them," he reaffirmed. Pete wanted to smile. The whole "lust for vengeance" thing was a cute look on him. . Patrick groaned and plopped his head in his forearms. "Why do they love making my life miserable?" he moaned. Pete put down his cup and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

_Jesus, he's so warm._

_He just wanted to sink into this boy and-_

"Are you lonely?" he found himself asking. 

Patrick peeked out. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you- _what?"_

_Grow a pair, Wentz, you're always calling Andy a pussy for not asserting himself._

"Cause I am too," he continued, tripping over his words, "and I think maybe we could be alone together?" He let the last part fade off, cringing. 

_Great job, Wentz, way to sound like a weird, stalkerish loser._

"That sounds nice."

" _What?"_

_They were using that word wa-a-ay too much._

"If you're asking me out on a date, that sounds fine," he squeaked, snuffling his face deep into the arms of his argyle sweater. Pete beamed.

"Wha-yeah! Yeah, I'd love to! I mean, sure, would you like to go see a movie?"

"I like movies."

"Great, uh-" he scrawled his number with the tube of eyeliner he kept in his pocket, feeling ready to burst. "Here's my number in case you need to call me. I know that new 007 movie is coming out and-"

"I like James Bond," he mumbled, slowly emerging from his merino wool shell.

_He likes James Bond!_

_God, Patrick, could you be more awkward!? Stop interrupting him! And try to form complex sentences next time,_ he scolded himself. 

"When should we go?"

"I'm free on Friday night, starting at four."

"Great, so am I!" he cheered- _well not really but I'll make time-_ "See you then!" He gave him a quick peck and raced out the door, whooping.

_Best sign ever!_

He kicked it over anyway. 

Best not leave anyone with any hopes of scoring with  _his_ barista. 


End file.
